


you are a ghost amid the flares of shellfire

by Laora



Series: Apostasy [2]
Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Ali al-Saachez is really REALLY not a good person and i took pains to show that here, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Panic Attacks, sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora
Summary: Lockon reaches her day of reckoning. Luckily, her friends are there to help.[ Or, the twilight of Celestial Being's first advent, with another Lockon Stratos. ]
Series: Apostasy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129616
Comments: 17
Kudos: 12





	you are a ghost amid the flares of shellfire

**Author's Note:**

> ~~jdjjgjdjfjd I had a whole note typed and then I hit the uncheck box someone send help~~
> 
> I wasn't gonna write more in this universe, but then a convo with sapphireswimming got out of hand (a common occurrence lol) and then I decided I had to properly explore how amy would react to Ali bc *angst*
> 
> Mentions of autistic setsuna because I Can. Also, it's basically canon that Chris has a panic disorder so that's in here too

“You have better enemies to fight than us, _Amelia Dylandy_. The KPSA murdered your entire family—and one of its members is right next to you.”

"What the _hell_ are you doing, digging through my data—"

"Soran Ibrahim was an active member of the KPSA in 2297," Johann says with obvious relish, and she snarls a question of why she should give a shit about some kid who died years ago, but—"Nowadays, Soran is better known by his codename: Setsuna F. Seiei."

* * *

She refuses to believe it. That bastard _can’t_ be right. He’s got it wrong, or he’s lying, or he’s trying to get them to fight between themselves, or—

Except Setsuna isn’t saying anything to defend himself. Except the Trinities are laughing, and flying off, and Lockon _knows_ she should pursue, or at least shoot after them, but her hands refuse to budge. She looks down at them, and finds that they’re shaking uncontrollably.

Nadleeh tries to open a comm link with her; she blocks it. Exia is still and silent, beside them both. She thinks, distantly, that it’s been eleven years since she last felt this cold.

The broken parts of Exia’s sword should be recovered. Virtue’s armor should be carried to the supply island so that it isn’t picked up by the government. Except her hands are shaking, and her vision is blurring, just a little, and static is growing in her mind. Haro says something to her; her ears, volatile on a good day, refuse to cooperate.

She turns Dynames back toward the island, blocks another communication attempt from Tieria, and thinks she trusts them enough to follow after her.

* * *

Tieria’s read everyone’s files, of course.

He knows everything there is to know about Setsuna F. Seiei, and Lockon Stratos, and all the others. He has been entrusted with this knowledge. He was created solely for the Plan, and it is his duty to carry it out.

Tieria has long known that Lockon Stratos’ family was killed eleven years ago in a suicide bombing. But there is something growing in his chest beyond that sterile, clinical knowledge as he watches her stumble out of Dynames’ cockpit.

She has Haro under one arm and a gun strapped to her opposite hip. Her face, always pale, has grown closer to the color of chalk. As she approaches, he sees that her hands are trembling.

(Unacceptable, for the best sniper on the face of the Earth. Unacceptable, when a single tremor could mean the difference between life and death—)

But Lockon doesn’t seem interested in drawing her gun, or fighting, or anything at all. Instead, she only stares as Setsuna follows behind Tieria and then steps forward, several feet away from her.

"We need to talk," she says, her voice cracking. "Tieria, I don't give a _fuck_ about Veda's secrecy rules right now. We can't work together if we—"

Tieria considers her, and considers what he knows of the situation. Considers the way Setsuna’s face is tight and drawn, even more than it usually is. “I can’t hear a thing,” he says, and turns away, leaning pointedly against a nearby tree.

(Veda’s secrecy rules are absolute. But, he thinks that two of the _true_ Gundam Meisters losing faith in each other—when the Thrones have already turned—would result in worse outcomes for the Plan than letting them talk about their pasts.)

(Maybe he cares about them both—even Setsuna, no matter how impulsive and irrational he is. Maybe now is not the time for him to think about it.)

Lockon blinks at him. He thinks that, were she in a better state of mind, he’d get one of her wide, toothy smiles. Instead, she only turns back to Setsuna—“Tell me that was a lie,” she demands, her voice wavering, and he says nothing in response. “Setsuna,” she says, louder, and he sighs.

“A long time ago, I believed in God.”

Tieria knows about—and has long bemoaned—Setsuna’s non sequiturs. But now he worries that there will be repercussions for them, because Lockon’s face is only growing paler as he talks about his childhood. He remembers her files perfectly well—panic attacks, and impulsivity, and anger issues. He thinks that, maybe, he should intervene before she decides to draw her gun.

(He is still struggling to understand what it means to be _human,_ after all, and so he does not know the catalyst points in someone’s temper. He wonders if having a family is necessary for humanity. He wonders if loss is a prerequisite. Looking at Lockon’s face, twisted in grief and rage, he wonders if it is worth it.)

“Does the date September 16, 2297 mean anything to you?” she demands of Setsuna. Tieria blinks back to the conversation, and his brows furrow further at the way her voice cracks on the date. Setsuna is hard to read, even when facing him head-on; Tieria’s side view leaves him nearly nothing to go on. But still, he thinks he sees his shoulders tighten, just a bit.

He shakes his head. Lockon takes a deep breath through her nose. "One of your—your _people_ ," she says, her voice choking again, "the military said he was just a kid. He was probably your age. But he came to Waterford, that day, and detonated a bomb in the middle of a shopping mall."

Setsuna bows his head. There are tears spilling over Lockon’s cheeks. "Two hundred and eighty eight people, out shopping on their day off," she says anyway, muddled and ruined. "They never came home, because _your organization_ decided that you had to come and _murder them."_

Her free hand twitches toward her hip, toward her handgun, and Tieria realizes with growing dread that he should have intervened a long time ago. “Lockon,” he says, urgently, but she doesn’t even glance his way. He pushes away from the tree, taking a couple steps forward, because—

"My _whole family_ was in that mall," she snarls, except it turns into more of a sob at the end. Her fingers scrabble for the grip of her gun, yanking it free of its holster. Her shaking thumb, unconsciously, flips off the safety. “My parents, and my older brothers—they went to buy me _birthday presents,_ and then I never saw them again because _you_ —"

“Lockon,” Tieria says, louder, meaning to step between them—but Setsuna puts out a hand to stop him.

“Shoot me, then,” he says to her, and Tieria’s stomach swoops as she levels her shaking pistol at Setsuna’s face. “If it’ll make a difference. If it’ll help you change the world, I don’t mind at all.”

She breathes heavily for several seconds. Her breaths are coming quicker, and her pistol is shaking almost beyond use, and Haro propels himself up from under her arm, flashing and calling her name. Tieria tries again to stop her; she ignores every one of them.

“Why _shouldn’t_ I shoot you?” she demands, and Setsuna stares at her. Tieria’s heart is pounding faster than he thinks it ever has, even in battle. He does not know if Lockon means to kill him. He does not know what he’ll tell the rest of the crew if she does. He does not know—

“Because the leader of the KPSA is still out there,” Setsuna says, his face twisting into something like discomfort, though Tieria can never truly tell—”and he’s the one who planned the bombing on that mall.”

* * *

Setsuna is far too familiar with panic attacks.

Ever since he was a small child—not long after...after his parents—he’s woken up in the middle of the night sometimes, unable to breathe, unable to _think,_ terrified of some nameless, faceless horror.

(He thinks, if the fear were something tangible, he'd be able to handle it better. He could shoot it, neutralize the threat, but he is never so lucky.)

Because the fear is a never-ending desert without a drop of water in sight. It’s being tasked with something impossible, with terrifying consequences should he fail. It’s the world speeding by him too fast, spinning on the wrong axis, too loud and too bright and too _much._ All his life, the only thing he’s been able to do is keep quiet in his bunk, and scratch at his arms just to _feel something normal_ , and wait for it to be over.

Setsuna is far too familiar with panic attacks. So when Lockon Stratos’ gaze goes blank as she stares _through_ him—as she drops her loaded, cocked gun from trembling hands, and reaches for her hair only to yank at it harshly, he knows exactly what is happening. Her breaths, reedy and heaving and fast, clearly don’t supply her any oxygen, and Haro’s beeping grows louder.

Tieria rushes forward with one hand outstretched, and something swoops in Setsuna’s gut; he reaches out, grabbing him by the elbow. He _hates_ touching, avoids it whenever he can. But in the midst of an attack, someone touching him has only ever spiraled him further. He does not wish that on _anyone_ , let alone Lockon.

Tieria whirls on him, opening his mouth in outrage. Haro falls lower as Lockon collapses to the ground, staying at her eye level, beeping things at her that Setsuna cannot understand from this distance. “Touching her will make it worse,” he says to Tieria, and all of the fight seems to go out of him, then.

“What are we supposed to _do?”_ he demands instead, pulling his arm from Setsuna’s grasp and looking again toward Lockon. “She’s hyperventilating—”

“Haro,” Setsuna calls, and it is several seconds before he finishes his current cycle to turn slightly toward them. “Can we do anything to help?”

“Stay back! Stay back!” Haro says immediately, and then—without missing a beat—returns his attention to Lockon and continues his rhythmic beeping. As they watch, she fumbles with her normal suit, pulling the zipper down to her waist and leaving her only in an undershirt. (Setsuna can understand that, too. He favors loose, light clothes for a reason—heavy and tight shirts make it even harder to breathe, when oxygen is already at a premium.)

Haro says to stay away, and Setsuna suspects that he’s guiding her breathing, too, as he watches her chest heave for several moments. It’s irregular, but after a while it's clear that she’s making an effort to match Haro’s beeping. He thinks he trusts them, that Haro has things well in hand.

Lockon has worked for Celestial Being for more than five years. If she’s anything like him, she’s had dozens of these attacks since moving to space. And if Haro has a protocol set up—

“She’ll be fine,” he tells Tieria, who slants a harsh look at him. But he doesn’t argue, because maybe he trusts Lockon, too. He only turns back toward Nadleeh, promising to retrieve water and MREs for when she’s come back to herself. Setsuna nods, and squats down against a tree, and keeps watch over his friends.

.

* * *

.

Barely a month later, her world is falling apart at the seams, and she has never been more terrified in her entire life.

Tieria was inches from death, when Veda abandoned them—she scarcely shot down that GN-X in time. Tieria is still, clearly, reeling from the loss of his entire worldview; Lockon’s hands still shake at the thought of if she was even _half a second slower—_

They all take night shifts, now, not trusting the regular rotation of Haros to wake them in time if there’s an attack coming. And so Lockon is exhausted, and strung out, and scared to death of what the coming weeks have in store for her friends. She has nightmares, often, of the bridge getting shot down, of Chris and Feldt screaming into their comm link right up until they _don’t_ —

She has nightmares of Setsuna and Allelujah and Tieria overwhelmed on the battlefield by these stolen mechs; she has nightmares of her new family going up in flames just as her blood one did. And so, she does her best not to sleep at all.

And in the late hours, when she should be sleeping and conserving her strength—instead, she reads about Ali al-Saachez.

There's not much about him, on the internet, and with Veda gone there's only so much looking she can do into their archives. But—there's only so much digging that she _needs_ to do: a warmonger-turned mercenary-turned false prophet for a bunch of desperate kids in the middle of a war. A man who gained their trust, and then forced them to murder their families. A man who sent those kids to their deaths all over the world, taking thousands of lives along with them.

She doesn't know if she can forgive Setsuna, the way his gaze shifted when she talked about the bomb. Like he _remembered_ that mission. Maybe he even knew the kid who did it.

He would've been small—six, at best, she'd guess. She knows, logically, that he can't be held responsible for being brainwashed in a warzone. But her fury is muddled and her mind is confused, and she is running on three hours of sleep. She trusts Setsuna on the battlefield, but the thought of her friend helping prepare her family's demise is—

(She remembers what happened on that supply island, after. Tieria brought her bottled water, and some granola bars, and clearly wanted to step closer to check on her though he stayed several feet away and wrung his hands, instead. Setsuna watched them both from even further out, making sure Tieria didn't get too close.)

(A child soldier—of _course_ he's familiar with panic attacks, she thinks bitterly. But she appreciates it more than words can say, that he was watching out for her, even when her trigger finger was a hair's breadth from—)

(She doesn't know whether she would've shot him. She doesn't think she wants to know the answer.)

.

Al-Saachez is the man who killed her family.

She's not sure if it's revenge or madness driving her, but when that stolen Throne appears on the battlefield, she doesn't even stop to think before splitting away, rushing after him.

Setsuna and Lasse are on the surface; there are only three Gundams left to protect the Ptolemy from this new threat, from these GN-Xes, from the combined might of the world. But she would trust Tieria and Allelujah with her life and every life on the Ptolemy. They're—the both of them—better pilots than her. They will be fine.

And it's a good thing, too, because her vision has tunneled until the only thing she can see is the stolen Throne with its stolen GN drive, piloted by a man who has stolen _everything from her—_

"Oh, I get the special treatment, do I, Mister Gundam?"

The voice comes over the open radio in her cockpit, and her hands twitch against the throttles before she pulls down her sniping unit. He's speaking in English, with some sort of muddled accent she couldn't hope to place, and there's _delight_ in his voice as he dodges her shots easily.

She's the best sniper in the world. She has a 90% hit rate in active battle. But this man is slimy and awful and taught Setsuna everything he knows, and she cannot let her guard down, she _cannot—_

Haro's automated dodging leaves her a little too close for comfort to al-Saachez's own rapid-fire shots—so she snarls before shoving the module back up, taking control again and charging at him with a choked scream.

He blocks her beam saber, of course he does, and shoves her back before charging her himself. "The strong and silent type, I see—that's all right. It'll just make things all the better when I _do_ make you scream—"

Dynames takes a solid hit; she slams her elbow into the side of the cockpit. Something pops, but she barely notices as she only shoots after him again, the white noise and fog growing steadily in her mind as al-Saachez laughs, and laughs, and _laughs. "_ Makes me wonder if you've got a vendetta," he muses, a grin in his voice as Lockon's control slips a little more. "You Gundam pilots never show your faces, huh? But I bet, if we just talked a bit, we'd get to know each other a little better, and _maybe_ —"

She reaches for the open comms before she can think better of it, her elbow screaming, not hearing Haro's warning before she slams her fist into the _on_ button. "I'm going to fucking _kill you,"_ she snarls, and hates the way her voice cracks at the end. For the first time, she notices that there are tears coating her faceplate, floating beside her cheeks.

Al-Saachez is quiet for a moment, flying back to consider her. She charges again, pistols blazing, and he laughs—"Seems I underestimated you, _Miss Gundam!_ Who woulda thought, that Celestial Whatever would hire a little girl to do their dirty work—"

She rams him, snarling, and he jerks back. "And forgive me if I'm wrong," he continues after a moment, unperturbed, "I don't spend so much time in the AEU anymore, see. But that's a _distinct_ Irish brogue you've got there. And I have _very_ fond memories of working in Ireland, a few years ago. Got some of my best work done, in fact—"

She's almost too late in noticing the Union pilot speeding directly toward her. She can't hear what he's saying. She can only hear al-Saachez, laughing, laughing, _laughing—_

The Union pilot is background noise. He is _nothing._ He is an obstacle in her path, and she dodges his shots without thought, shooting him down and then shooting his smoking mech toward the Throne—

And he dodges it, of course he does, but then he is not quite prepared for her follow-up shot, and one of his arms goes flying as she shoots it off at the shoulder.

"Oh, _excellent_ work," he says with relish, a disgusting tone to his voice as he reaches for another saber with his remaining arm. "Maybe I shouldn't just dismiss you, after all—"

And then he is surrounding her, quick, too quick to keep up with, and Dynames was never meant to be a blitz unit or even a close combat fighter, and she is good with her swords but not nearly as good as the others and he is _too close_ and—

"That bomb, y'know, I made it special," he says. "That shopping center was the biggest target I'd hit yet, so I knew it had to have more of a kick to it. Leveled most of the building, right? All you _civilized countries_ with your _fancy_ _infrastructure_ , turned into rubble by some juiced up C-4 and a seven year old _brat_ who hung off every word I said—"

"Shut up," she snaps, and has to blink away more tears though her hands are like vices on her throttles. She doesn't dodge his last shot in time; Dynames' right leg is nothing but smoking rubble below the knee. "You don't know _anything—"_

"Oh, I think I know enough," he says, mocking, and she narrowly blocks his next slice. "You sound like a kid, yourself—you weren't that old when it happened. Did I orphan you, girlie? I specialize in orphans, see—now I just need to finish the job—"

She screams, wordless, and he just keeps laughing. "So, I killed your parents," he says, thoughtful, dodging her frantic shots with ease. "Maybe you had some siblings in there, too? Grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends?"

She chokes, and reaches on reflex to cover her mouth with one hand except she is wearing her helmet, and that leaves her wide open for al-Saachez to slam her with his sword. Something cracks in her shoulder, her ribcage as one wall of the cockpit crumples inward, and she _wheezes._

"Ahh, I see," he says. "Well, if you survived it, you must not have been in there, since—well—I _know_ how to make bombs." She can _hear_ the grin in his voice, and he continues, "Lemme tell you how it happened. Y'see, I had the kid stake out the busiest part of the mall, the day before. Where everyone liked to meet up, the most popular stores—and then he had orders to stand right in the middle of the crowd, there, and hit the detonator. Too bad, all the people right near him wouldn't have even known what happened. But—well, the ones further out…the shrapnel, or the shockwave, or the fire, or the building collapsing _right on top of them,_ what a way to go, right? Imagine being out shopping, maybe buying something for your _precious_ little girl, and then—"

She can't block the radio transmission. She can't hear what Haro is trying to tell her about damaged sensors and a pair of destroyed pistols and critical damage to the cockpit. She barely notices as two Fangs dig into Dynames, all but ripping it in half at the hips.

She activates her skirt missiles as she goes flying, and at least a few of them land—but he is coming for her again, regardless, and she is nearly blind with rage, and—

She blocks him with her last saber, screaming into the comms, and the only thing she can hear is his laughter, echoing. "You women are so easy to rile up," he says. "I’m surprised that Schen-whos-it guy let you get hired—"

"My _entire family_ was in that mall," she snarls, except her voice sounds very far away above the noise and the dashboard warnings and the _laughter—_ "You killed—"

"Oh, I got them all in one go, did I?" he asks, sounding delighted as he charges her again. "Excellent, I _love_ making things a family event. Always makes it worse for the survivors, having entire generations wiped out. Just _imagine_ your family's screams as they died, it must've been _beautiful_ —"

Her pistols are gone. Her last beam saber is damaged; it’ll take maybe one more hit before failing as well. Her rifle is useless at close range, and her hands are shaking beyond her control—

Al-Saachez rushes her again; she has no choice but to take the hit with her shields, her teeth and wounds jarring at the impact. But then she grabs a hold of his mech, locking down and _keeping_ him there, no matter how much he struggles. She abandons her saber—and then she reaches for the top of her cockpit with shaking hands.

Her rifle can't position properly on Dynames' shoulder. At this range, it doesn't need to. Her mech’s left arm is locked around the Throne's neck, and the right can _just_ angle the barrel enough to—

Al-Saachez's laughter grows louder as he realizes what she's doing. He shoots a pistol rapid-fire against her shields, quickly melting through them. Her Gundam is falling apart about her ears, and the temperature in her cockpit is reaching critical levels—

She sobs one last time, and closes her eyes, and does not hesitate to pull the trigger down.

* * *

Nadleeh and Kyrios are clear, on standby in the Ptolemy's airspace in case the enemy isn't completely gone. But—but they were successful. Tieria is breathing heavily, sweat rolling down his face, but he does not dare remove his helmet to wipe it away, to push his hair out of his eye. That battle was _far_ too close for comfort, especially with Exia unavailable, with Dynames going head to head with al-Saachez in the stolen Throne—

The battle was pulse-pounding but now it is over, and his sensors are indicating that there are no enemy suits in the nearby airspace. Exia has left the elevator and is en route. Kyrios is damaged, beside him, but functional enough. And Dynames—

Dynames is returning to the Ptolemy, and he lets out a heavy breath. She is not being pursued, so al-Saachez must be dead. She must have won, must have earned her revenge, must have—

He opens a comm to her, meaning to tell her that they should stay on stand-by for several minutes longer. But as his screens zoom in on her suit—

It's half-gone, nearly, and he hears Allelujah swear under his breath as Tieria only renews his efforts to open a line. But when he does, Haro's voice is the only thing that comes through—and though he asks, in growing desperation, for an update on Lockon's state, the only thing that comes through is a rhythmic, mechanical voice:

"Lockon, Lockon—Lockon, Lockon—Lockon, Lockon—"

.

Joyce rushes to the hangar, bringing with him a full trauma cart and a stretcher. Tieria, best equipped to help, is recalled to join him. Allelujah is ordered to remain on standby, as their last defense against any stray suits that might come for them. Still, his face is tight and horrified in the corner of Tieria's screens before he docks Nadleeh, all but throwing himself out of the cockpit and pushing across the room toward the wreckage of Dynames as the hangar door slides closed behind him.

Ian is there already, with Joyce, prying open the twisted, half-melted cockpit with the help of several Haros. Tieria blanches, and wills his thrusters to push him faster, no matter how irrational he knows that is. Because Ian is swearing loud enough over their shared comm that his ears are ringing, and Haro is still broadcasting to the rest of the crew, and—

And, finally, the cockpit is open, and Tieria touches down behind them both as Joyce immediately leans in to triage her. Tieria stands close by the cart, wills his hands not to shake. He looks the cart over again though he's long had it memorized, preparing to hand off coagulation sticks or a tourniquet or—

Tieria can hear something else, now, over what must be the short range comms. Because it's small and quiet and terrified, and interrupted by hiccoughing sobs. It's a voice too high to be anyone in the room but Lockon, and he resists the urge to push off toward the cockpit himself. If Joyce needs something, the precious seconds that would waste might cost Lockon her life.

Joyce stays up there for several seconds, assessing. Tieria knows exactly how skilled he is in treating acute battlefield injuries, but he finds that his hands are shaking, and he twitches every time Lockon makes a noise, every time Joyce moves.

"Mild sedative," Joyce barks, and Tieria grabs it without thought, pushing himself up toward the cockpit and handing it off without a word. But here he is selfish, and irrational, and maybe more human than he used to be, because as Joyce administers the shot, he leans into the gaping, twisted mess of Dynames' cockpit because he _needs to know—_

Lockon is floating several inches above her crash couch, trembling violently and curled with her head buried in her knees. There is blood on the right side of her abdomen, and parts of her suit are badly burned. She cries out and curls away when Joyce reaches gently to palpate her ribs. But it is clearly not a hemorrhage, and it is not a crushed chest cavity, and these are miracles when for these last few minutes he has needed to assume the worst—

Her helmet, inexplicably, is removed—a completely unacceptable breach of common-sense safety protocol—and her hearing aids are floating closer to the screens, turned off and suspended in space. Tieria blinks, and does not understand. But the rage he would've felt, once, does not rise as he expects it to.

"She'll be okay," Joyce says, into a ship-wide broadcast, and Tieria exhales shakily even as he hears several voices curse and sob on the same line. "I'm bringing her into Med Bay now." Then, he cuts the broadcast and turns to Tieria, his mouth set in a thin line. "Help me bring her down," he says, and Tieria does not hesitate to enter the cockpit himself, pulling under her uninjured arm to lift her clear. She looks toward him, briefly, with wild eyes that stare through him like he's not even there. He's seen this face once before, a month ago, on an island where he first started to question the ideals that have held him up for so long.

Haro follows them out of the cockpit, continues his familiar cycle as Joyce gently takes her calves, and the sedative begins to take hold as Lockon allows them to uncurl her body, lay her out on the stretcher.

He knows what this is. Setsuna told him, and scolded him, and taught him and made him remember so that he would understand. Before that day on the island, he had only ever read about panic attacks—but seeing one in real time, swallowing up someone he greatly respects, is far more terrifying than he had anticipated.

He secures her down in the null gravity, and ensures she is still stable. But he does not touch her any more than he absolutely needs to.

Her breathing is still erratic as her gaze flickers around—and her hands move sloppily toward the zipper pull on her normal suit though she can't quite seem to reach it. Tieria hesitates, then, looking between her and Joyce, setting up vitals monitoring on the cart—and reaches quickly toward the zipper himself, pulling it down to her waist like she had it before.

She's still not breathing correctly, at least not enough to make Tieria comfortable, but her chest is expanding more than it was before. Her good hand, nearer Tieria, reaches blindly for his own and holds it tight.

He jumps, stares down at her in surprise. But she isn't looking at him—still isn't looking at anything, with flickering and terrified eyes. By the time Joyce returns with the pulse ox and blood pressure cuff and IV, she is mostly unconscious as the sedative works its way through her system. Still, even after her eyes close, Tieria must pry her hand away from his own.

Joyce thanks him, leaves the cart for him to bring back to Med Bay, and hurries off toward the door, Haro following close behind. And Tieria knows he shouldn't delay, but—

He looks at the crash cart, and then he looks up to the cockpit. After a moment, he propels himself up to retrieve Lockon's helmet and hearing aids. (Painted bright orange—to match Haro, she once said with a laugh—and he still has no idea why she would remove them—) Then, finally, he grabs the cart and makes his own way down the hall.

* * *

Christina knows panic attacks all too well.

She's been talking with Dr. Moreno about it, about medications that might at least take the edge off. Once these assaults die down, they've decided. Once the crew can get the rest that they so desperately need, she'll have time to try new pills without accidentally incapacitating herself when she’s needed on the bridge.

But this means that she has not taken any _yet_ , and the whole ship comes closer to death every day. More nights than not, Chris finds herself curled up on her bed under the sheets, clutching the silly, oversized stuffed dog she bought on impulse last time they went to Earth. It doesn't help as much as she wishes it would. It doesn't protect her or her friends from the might of the world's combined armies.

And today, Lockon seeks out the stolen Throne on the battlefield, driving him away from the GN-Xes for their own battle. Sumeragi frowns but does not call her back, and only tells Chris to keep an eye on her. Feldt, without a word, shifts her focus to Tieria and Allelujah, and Chris swallows before tuning her headset to Dynames’ cockpit.

(Except this is the man Setsuna warned them about, the one he faced off with in Moralia. The one who pilots at least as well as the Meisters. The one who fights like Setsuna, except _slimier_ , and she has never allowed herself to think of the implications of that, because her anxiety is high enough, these days—)

And she—she does not have a visual on Lockon's face, which she thinks is a very good thing, because the audio is bad enough. Her hands are shaking so horribly that she can’t use her terminal; she’s lightheaded, _horrified_ at what she’s listening to. She wants to turn away. She wants to run away from this, but it is her _job_ to support the Meisters, and Lockon is her _friend,_ and no matter how awful this is for her, it is so much worse for Lockon. She cannot abandon her, especially when—

(She thought that she had seen Lockon Stratos angry, years ago, when Chris pressed her about her birthday. Today, she learns that that was _nothing_.)

“Chris,” Sumeragi says sharply, and she can only stare at her screens, watching Lockon’s heart rate and blood pressure rise rapidly—watching as Dynames is slowly taken apart by this horrible man. “What’s Lockon’s status?”

She shakes her head, and reaches to run her hands through her hair except her helmet is in the way, and so she can only sob. Sumeragi’s tone grows sharper, and she can do nothing but reach clumsily for her keyboard, sending Dynames’ audio link to play for the entire bridge, and— “You don’t know _anything,”_ Lockon snarls, and Feldt turns sharply as Sumeragi stiffens in her chair.

“Oh, I think I know enough,” al-Saachez says, and she sees Lichty’s grip on the Ptolemy’s controls tighten, enough that the material of his gloves creaks. Sumeragi takes a deep, shaky breath, but Chris knows that Lockon would never listen to commands from the bridge right now, no matter how crucial. And then—

And then she learns everything she never, _never_ wanted to know about her best friend. She learns exactly how loud Lockon can scream—and she learns what it sounds like, when a cockpit is incinerated by a sniper rifle’s particle beam, fired at point-blank range.

She learns what a Haro in mourning sounds like, a funeral knell, calling out his partner’s name over and over and _over_ again. She learns what it sounds like, when Sumeragi Lee Noriega cries.

She would give _anything_ to forget this, but Lockon is dead, her friend is dead and Lockon is _dead_ and Tieria is swearing as he charts a course back to the hangar, and Allelujah is stifling his sobs as he tries to cover the entire ship at once, and—and _god,_ they’re gonna have to tell Setsuna and Lasse, too, and—

And Haro docks what’s left of Dynames in the hangar as Dr. Moreno goes up to retrieve her body, and Chris has pulled off her helmet to cry because it was suffocating, and the battle is over, now, and what does it even matter if they’re shot out of the sky because _her best friend is dead_ and—

“She’ll be okay,” Dr. Moreno says, suddenly, over the ship’s general comms, and Chris sits up sharply, her heart jumping into her throat as Lichty swears softly to her left. “I’m bringing her to Med Bay now.”

Something high and keening echoes through the bridge, and it’s only when the others turn to her that Chris realizes it came from her own throat. She turns, desperate, to Miss Sumeragi, but she shakes her head—”You’ll be in the way, if you go now. Joyce will keep us updated—”

She sobs, wiping at her eyes again. She knows Miss Sumeragi’s right, on some level, except the noise is only growing in her ears, and her hands only shake more every second that passes without news, and what if—what if Dr. Moreno was sugar-coating it for them, and what if she dies in Med Bay, and what if her best friend is dead and what if—

Feldt comes over to her chair the moment Miss Sumeragi sends out the all-clear, pulling her into a desperately tight hug and sobbing into her shoulder. Chris returns it without thought, pulling her close because—because Lockon is her best friend but Feldt is her little sister, and she—she _needs_ them both to be okay, and—

Allelujah starts his docking sequence, and Chris barely has the presence of mind to key him in, twisting awkwardly so she does not have to let go of Feldt; he and Ian come to the bridge as soon as they’re clear. Tieria—according to their surveillance—is helping in Med Bay, which means that Lockon is really, _really_ not okay, because Dr. Moreno was assigned to the ship specifically for his experience in treating trauma. If _he_ needs back-up, then—

Ian and Allelujah come onto the bridge and Sumeragi stands to greet them, though Chris is not letting go of Feldt anytime soon. “She was alive when I saw her, Chris,” Ian says bracingly, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. “Joyce knows what he’s doing—he’ll fix her up, no problem.”

She shudders, violently, at the memory of Lockon screaming wordlessly at that monster. At the memory of Lockon practically _blowing herself up_ just to have a chance at killing him. But they didn’t—oh, _god,_ they didn’t even check the battlefield, and what if he’s not dead even after that, even after Lockon—

“You know Lockon,” Lichty says, cheer forced into his voice as he turns around for a moment. “She’s a tough one—and she knows you won’t ever forgive her, if she dies.”

She knows they’re trying to console her, comfort her, but they are only making it worse, and she sobs again into Feldt’s shoulder, eventually collapsing to the ground as her knees buckle. She does not know how long they’re there, waiting, until Tieria comes over the comms: “Lockon is unconscious but stable. She will require a regeneration pod for her injuries; Joyce estimates it will take slightly over three days.”

Is three days long enough before the world powers attack again? Chris is too scared to ask, though she sees the set of Miss Sumeragi’s jaw and knows she’s thinking the same thing. But she sends a “thank you” back to Tieria nonetheless; then, she turns to Chris.

“Go ahead,” she says softly, and Chris doesn’t wait another second to comply.

* * *

Setsuna doesn’t know what he and Lasse are coming back into, as they rapidly approach the Ptolemy.

He knows, based on the comms traffic, that there was a battle against the world powers’ new suits. But they are not hailed as they approach, and his ping to Christina goes unanswered; Lasse’s jaw is clenched tight in the corner of his screen as they only push their suits faster. Neither of them ever say much, when it comes to things like this. Whatever is waiting for them in the Ptolemy’s airspace, they will deal with it as it comes.

Eventually, Feldt pings him back, saying that the battle is over, that they are ready to dock Exia and the Arms as soon as they arrive. She gives no explanation for Chris’ radio silence, and he does not ask for one; and once he enters the hangar, he thinks the answer is obvious enough.

Lasse swears loudly, when they first see Dynames laid out on the floor—or, rather, what’s left of it piled into smoking rubble. The cockpit’s still visibly warm, and the bottom half is completely blown away; there’s no one in the hangar, even Ian, and there’s an unfamiliar pit growing in Setsuna’s gut as he climbs out of his cockpit, pulling his helmet off and paging the bridge.

“You’d better just come up here,” Miss Sumeragi says, wearily, and Setsuna's horror swoops lower as he and Lasse rush to comply.

Most of the crew is there, bar Lockon, Chris, and Dr. Moreno. Tieria’s face is pale as he leans up against the storage lockers; Feldt’s eyes are puffy and red, and Miss Sumeragi sighs heavily before turning to greet them.

“Is Lockon alive?” Lasse asks, blurts, and Setsuna is glad that he asks so that he won’t have to himself. Miss Sumeragi takes another shaky breath, and the look on her face immediately makes Setsuna assume the worst—but—Lockon _can’t_ be dead, she’s too good a pilot, too important to the rest of this crew, and—

“She’s in a regen pod for the next three days to get her any sort of functional again,” she says, and Setsuna exhales deeply. “But—well, you saw Dynames. If we even _get_ three days before the next attack, the best she’ll be able to do is shoot from one of the launch strips.”

“What happened?” Lasse presses, not bothering to hide the worry as he pushes his way further into the room, all but collapsing in his chair.

“The mercenary in that stolen Throne,” Tieria says, turning sharply to look at Setsuna. “He was here. She recognized him, and drew him away from the rest of the squad to fight him herself.”

And Setsuna—he understands, everything, all at once, and he feels something twist in his face that he doesn’t bother trying to hide. He told her about Ali al-Saachez because he had to. Because she deserved to know. Because he thought it would help her better change this twisted world. But she—

“As far as we can tell, it was a stalemate,” Miss Sumeragi says quietly. “She shot her rifle point-blank at his suit, but we didn’t have time to go back out to confirm his body.”

“But she’ll be okay,” Lasse demands, looking between Feldt and Lichty as if for reassurance. “Right? The doc’s got her in a pod?”

“Yes,” Miss Sumeragi says quietly, “so long as they don’t take us out before she’s awake.”

* * *

Chris knows, practically, that she can’t spend every waking moment in Med Bay watching over Lockon.

Dr. Moreno has assured her that regen pods are automated and error-proof—that he’ll be checking on her periodically, that he’s treated far worse and had the patient come out perfectly fine. But those other patients were not _Lockon Stratos,_ and the fear only brews hotter in her gut as she counts down to the moment where her friend will wake up.

By some miracle, on the third day, there are no mobile suit squadrons on their horizons; they have not been shot out of the sky. Chris is in Med Bay, now, after Feldt all but kicked her off the bridge, since she was checking the time every thirty seconds, anyway. “Just make sure you send us an update,” Lichty said, cheerful, “and tell her we say hey, yeah?”

And she plans to do those things, _honest,_ except that when Lockon starts shifting and Dr. Moreno opens the glass top of the pod, the only thing in Chris’ mind is hysterical relief as Lockon opens her eyes. The burns down her arm have healed over, but the cosmetic treatment to smooth out the scars would’ve taken time that they don’t have, and Chris can’t help but stare at them as Lockon focuses slowly on the ceiling. Then, she focuses on Chris.

“Hey,” she says, her voice a little hoarse, and she can’t help but sob in response. “Hey, it’s okay—”

“Lockon,” Dr. Moreno says, calm as ever, from his seat to the other side, and she blinks before sluggishly turning her head his way, instead. “The battle is over. Haro brought you back here, and we were able to treat your wounds. You’ve been in the pod a little over three days.”

She blinks at him, absorbing and obviously trying to understand. “Is he dead?” she demands, sudden, and pushes herself up on her elbows. Dr. Moreno glances to Chris, and then he looks back to Lockon.

“Yes,” he says simply, and she sobs, bringing one hand to rub at her face.

“Lockon,” Chris says, her voice very small, and she turns back to her. “Are you—are you feeling okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” she says, turning back to her—and Chris watches as her face falls, as she moves to sit up properly. She succeeds, even if it’s a little stiff, and then she’s reaching for Chris’ hand. “Hey, you don’t need to worry about me, right? Look at me, good as new—”

“We thought you were dead,” she whispers, and Lockon swallows.

“We’ve got the best doctor in the world right here,” she says after a moment too long, slapping on a smile that’s not quite as bright as it used to be. “Don’t tell me you’re doubting him—”

“You—” Chris starts, and sobs, and runs her free hand through her hair as the other convulses on Lockon’s fingers. “You—you were _screaming,_ and that _monster_ was laughing at you, saying _awful_ things, and then you—you—”

Lockon’s fingers have gone stiff in her grip, and Chris doesn’t have the courage to look up at her. “You were monitoring me,” she says, a little quieter, and Chris nods jerkily. “So you heard...”

“Yeah,” Chris whispers, and then Lockon is sitting up further, pulling her down into a tight, desperate hug.

“He’s gone now,” Lockon says, and Chris honestly can’t tell if she’s reassuring her or herself. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore, yeah?”

“But you—”

“I’m fine,” she says, and only squeezes her tighter. Chris thinks she can feel a few tears leaking onto her shoulder. “And I’m planning to stay that way.”

* * *

Setsuna doesn’t go to visit Lockon immediately.

It’s not hard to put it off, when the rest of the crew seems so desperate to see her. Tieria had all but barged in the moment Chris left; Feldt has taken to waiting by the door, during her off-shift, waiting for her to wake up so she doesn’t bother her. And—truthfully, Setsuna wants to see her too, to make sure that she really is okay again.

Unfortunately, the conversation they need to have is a little heavier than he really wants to put on her, so soon after waking up.

It’s the next day, now, and Miss Sumeragi’s scarcely left the planning room. She’s told them all that she expects an attack within the next twelve hours—asked that all hands that can be spared go to the hangar, to do what they can to repair the Gundams. Lockon had been firmly denied access, though, with Miss Sumeragi saying she needs to rest if she even wants to _think_ about going into battle again—and so Setsuna, supposedly eating a quick lunch, ducks into Med Bay to talk to her.

She looks up from where she’s laid back on a hospital bed, waving one hand as she bites into a granola bar of her own. She’s back in her street clothes, jeans and a roomy hoodie that hides the scarring up her arm. He nods back, hesitating by the door before pulling a chair closer to her bed.

“Good to see you made it back safe,” she opens with, smiling a bit, and Setsuna nods sharply.

“We returned after the battle had already ended,” he says. “We were never in any danger. But…”

She stares at him as he trails off, tilting her head. “The first thing Lasse and I saw when we got back was Dynames,” he continues eventually, quiet. “Before the bridge briefed us, we thought…”

She grimaces, reaching to wave a hand down at him. She knows very well his discomfort with touching, and he’s grateful for it as he finds his shoulders curling in already. “Everything turned out okay, right?” she says, cheerful when Setsuna thinks she really shouldn’t be. “And—and he’s dead, now. So neither of us have to worry about him anymore.”

He hesitates, but decides not to clarify. Sumeragi seemed much less sure of his death, four days ago, but if she decided that Lockon didn’t need to know the details, he’s not comfortable arguing that. “Yes,” he says, low. “I... wanted to thank you, for killing him. I couldn’t, so…”

He swallows, and meets her eyes with some difficulty. But this is _important,_ and he needs Lockon to know—”Thank you for doing it for me,” he says, barely audible. She’s quiet for a moment before sighing deeply, pushing herself further upright before leaning forward.

“I never—” she stumbles over her words, scrubbing one hand through her hair as she looks down and away. “I never apologized for almost shooting you. And I never thanked you for helping me, after my attack.”

He blinks at her. “I told you, on that island,” he says with a frown. “If shooting me had helped you become closer to your Gundam, I wouldn’t have minded at all.”

“But I—” she swallows, and then looks back up at him. “We need to _trust_ each other, yeah? And instead, I just _lost it_ —I...that was awful of me, and I never should’ve threatened you like that.”

Setsuna isn’t sure how to reply to that. “I do trust you,” he says, eventually. “And I don’t blame you at all.”

She stares some more, but Setsuna can’t understand the emotions crossing her face. Then, unexpectedly, she laughs. _“Become closer to my Gundam,_ huh?” she says, that spark of something back in her eye. “We’ll have to see what kind of miracles Ian and the others have pulled, because I’m pretty sure Dynames is just scrap metal at this point.”

Setsuna blinks. Dynames may have taken heavy damage, yes, but her Gundam is clearly intact. “I trust you,” he says again, and she laughs, harder this time.

“You’re a weird kid, y’know that?” she says, a grin still on her face as she tilts her head at him. “You and your Gundam obsession, it’s kinda cute.”

He doesn’t know what about this could be considered _cute,_ but Lockon is smiling again, and that leaves a certain warmth in his chest that he didn’t notice was missing until now. “Thank you,” he says, feeling the corners of his own mouth quirking up, and Lockon’s face brightens further.

The alarm klaxons go off before she can say anything else, though, and Setsuna winces at the noise even as Lockon leaps to her feet, discarding her granola wrapper. “I’d better get changed,” she says, already stepping toward the door. “See you out there, yeah? I’ll watch your back, so don’t worry about a thing.”

“Okay,” Setsuna agrees with a nod, and watches her hurry down the hall and out of sight.

He knows as well as the rest of the crew that more than likely, none of them will see the end of this battle. But he finds himself smiling anyway, making his own way to the hangar and to Exia.

He has Lockon’s back, too. And if they’re very lucky, maybe Gundam will see them both through the end of this battle so that they can change the world.

**Author's Note:**

> (and then a miracle happens and they all survive shhhhhhh)
> 
> Do I have any idea how long regen pods take to work? Nope. I made the executive decision that Neil's treatment was gonna take so long because it was nervous system damage (regrowing an EYE properly probably is super delicate, slow work). So, Amy's burns and broken bones would take some time to heal, but not nearly as much as Neil's did  
> So anyway that's what I'm going with lol
> 
> also, turns out orange haro is lockon's emotional support haro, who knew
> 
> ~~the entire crew needs emotional support haros lbh~~
> 
> (also also, yall would not BELIEVE the agonizing i did over scene order and pov shifts like sdlfjkojlsajkdofffasdf i hope it translates ok)


End file.
